


The Gospel of Marius

by English_Tea_Roses



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Ghosts, Haunting, Not Romance, Other, Post-Barricade, at least not the important storyline, doesn't really matter, i mean marius and cosette are married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/English_Tea_Roses/pseuds/English_Tea_Roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly three years after he fought on the barricade, Marius Pontmercy is still haunted by the spirits of the past. Together with his wife, Cosette, Marius must appease the restless dead and send them to peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marius Haunted

**_My name was Marius Pontmercy. Well, I suppose that is still my name, but the man I was is dead. Can it be that less than three years ago, I was a young man? These past years have aged me a decade. Cosette, my beloved Cosette, I don’t believe really understands though she too has lost one she loves. I saw him again on the lane last night and my mind is far from easy._ **

            Marius set his pen back in its inkwell and leaned back in his chair. Journal in front of him, he rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes and read over what he had written. In the past months, Marius had found that keeping a book of his thoughts helped stop the nightmares sometimes. Still, as he had the previous night, he awoke in a cold sweat, mind screaming with the shadows of the past. Whether he dreamed he had gone to the window or not, it was doubtless that the thing he saw standing under the streetlamp was Courfeyrac, his long dead friend.

            “Marius? Are you in here?” Cosette’s sweet, concerned voice met his back from the doorway. He shut his journal and tucked it away in the drawer, ink mostly dry, before turning to face her.

            “Good morning, my love. How are you today?” Marius said, attempting a chipper smile but instead looking as if someone has stepped on his foot and he was gritting his teeth. Cosette, not fooled for a moment, furrowed her brow and gently reached up to cup his cheek.

            “I am well but you, evidently, are not. You saw him again last night, didn’t you?”

            Marius touched her hand and sighed.

            “You know?”

            “Marius, please. You’re as easy to read as a book. If someone mentions his name, or something that sounds similar, your eyes dart to the shady corners of the room or out the window.”

            “You, of course, always know my mind. I see C-courfeyrac,” Marius stuttered out his name, “at night, though not always. I wake from a nightmare and see him, sometimes out the window, sometimes at the foot of our bed.”

            Cosette gave it a minute or two before replying.  She spoke slowly,

            “Could it be possible you are still dreaming when you see him? I’ve read, last Tuesday in the newspaper, in fact, that people can cling to bits of sleep even while awake. I’ve dreamed of my father before, and could’ve sworn to you that he was watching over me while I slept.”

            Marius sat back in his chair, slid down, and rubbed his eyes again.

            “It felt so real, like I could reach out and touch his hand as easily as I could touch yours now. But perhaps you’re right; I might just need more sleep.”

            “Why don’t you go up to bed? I’m sure you could take the day off from the law.”

            “But Cosette-“

            “No more words. You’re clearly too ill to be much use to anyone right now anyway. It wouldn’t do for a lawyer to fall asleep during a murder’s case, now would it?”

            “I must-“

            “All that you MUST do is go back to sleep. Go,” Cosette said, her voice turned to steel. Sensing that it was no use arguing, Marius stood, dizzy for a moment, kissed her, and left his study. He shambled up the stairs, supporting himself with the long banister, as fatigue threatened to send him tumbling down to the vestibule below. Still dressed in his nightclothes with only a pair of trousers hastily thrown on, Marius had but to step out of them and cover himself with his blankets before falling asleep, safe in his bed.

_The smell of gunpowder permeated the air as Marius hastily reloaded guns for the men at the top of the barricade. He heard their shouts and smelled the salty, iron smell of blood, too much blood. Oh God, there was blood everywhere! The streets ran with the rusty river of life, only pausing around the bodies of the dead men before carrying them off and coming to him. He saw blood running into Bahorel’s mouth and out of his nostrils, he heard the moans of the dying, stabbed Combeferre, his lifeblood spraying out like a geyser. He heard Courfeyrac yelling from somewhere far away, and he waded as quickly as he could to him, up to his waist in the scarlet tide._

_“Courfeyrac! Courfeyrac, I’m coming!” he called, but he saw Coufeyrac slain and falling into the current just as he touched his hand. Then he felt the piercing pain of the bullet rip though his body and he fell back, the red covering his face before the blackness took over._

_Marius woke up in his dark room, his breath making little puffs of fog in the icy air. This was wrong, it shouldn’t be this dark. How long had he been asleep? And why had Cosette allowed the fire to go out? Marius shivered in the chill, his fingertips blue with cold. He sat up in bed and saw a frightening sight: a thin, stooped figure in the far corner of his bedchamber._

_“Cosette, is that you?” he asked the shadow, knowing in his heart that that wasn’t her. He shut his eyes tight in fear. The thing walked towards him and stood close to his chest by his bedside. He gathered his courage and opened his eyes, chest seizing up in terror when he realized who was looming over him._

_“Hello, Monsieur Marius,” Eponine Thenardier’s cracked voice rasped out._

_“Y-you,” Marius whispered, horrified._

_“Yeah, it’s me. Why did you let me die, Monsieur Marius? Why did you kill me?”_

_“I didn’t kill you! The soldier did!”_

_“You were the reason I was there, monsieur! I had plans!” she yelled._

_Marius desperately tried to fumble a reply when another figure stepped out of the shadows, a tall man with a mop of blonde hair, glorious in a gold-buttoned scarlet waistcoat._

_“Eponine, stop it. You made your choice to be there the same as any of us did. It’s not Pontmercy’s fault you jumped in front of him. Hello, citizen.”_

_“Enjolras? What are you doing here?”_

_“Just saying hello. It’s very boring, being dead. Especially when you still have to stick around.”_

_“Stick around?” Marius asked, “Why do you have to stick around? Shouldn’t you have moved on by now? Eponine as well.”_

_“Well,” Enjolras said, “we, ah, really can’t. Something about unfinished business. We cannot leave until it’s finished; you’d be surprised at how many of us are hanging around Paris. Enough to have won at the barricade, I’d wager.”_

_Marius noted the bitter tone in his voice and stood up, surprisingly dressed in his day clothes. He walked over to the window and leaned heavily on the sill, looking out into the clear night. The Paris street was deserted except for a line of nine figures, one smaller than the rest. Marius, heart beating like a rabbit’s, tried to deny who it was, but he knew. He just knew. He turned back to face Enjolras, who was now absentmindedly fiddling with Marius’ watch. Eponine was sitting sulkily on the foot of his bed. His mind was buzzing with questions, but the one that fell from his lips was the one he least expected to blurt out._

_“Where are the rest?” he asked, “There were at least twenty other men who died that night. Why have they not come?”_

_“I don’t know,” Enjolras said, surprised, “I suppose they never took notice of you and so can’t speak to you now. I’m not entirely sure how it works, but I think there has to be a connection, however fleeting, besides just fighting on the same side.”_

_“For that matter, why have YOU chosen me to speak to? You never seemed to like me much in life; don’t you have friends or family to take your ‘unfinished business’ to?”_

_Enjolras looked embarrassed._

_“I would, but they can neither see nor hear me. I think you were meant to die with us that night, and so only you can help us.”_

_“How am I supposed to help you? I’m sorry, but you’re dead. How on Earth do I help a dead soul?”_

_“Kill my dear old dad, for starters,” Eponine cut in, her broken teeth forming a facsimile of a grin._

_“Stop that,” Enjolras said as Marius spluttered, “we can’t ask him to kill someone. Besides, your father’s moved to America.”_

_“True, true. I still have a list, however.”_

_“And we’ll get to it, I promise. Well, Pontmercy? Will you accept our need?”_

_Marius considered his options. On one hand, the ghosts might ask him to do something that could send him to prison for the rest of his life. Cosette would never understand. On the other hand, he really didn’t need a bunch of vengeful spirits haunting him for all eternity._

_“Enjolras, I swear on my life, I will do whatever it takes to help you all move on to a better place.”_

_Enjolras shook his hand and smiled, and the dream dissolved._

Marius opened his eyes to the bright sunlight streaming in through the crack in his curtains. He looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly one o’clock; he had slept for quite a long time. What a strange sleep it had been! Marius hoped, deep down, that the shades in his room had been nothing but a figment of his imagination. He had almost convinced himself, too, when he saw something that made his stomach drop to the bottom of his torso.

            Sitting on his night table was a single, gold button, gleaming in the shining daylight.

           


	2. Marius Confronted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Marius is infected with ghosts, he reaches out for help.

Marius sprang to his feet and picked up the little object. Yes, it was real, golden, and solid in his hand. With a cold sense of dread, he turned it to its face; yes, it was engraved with the ornate initials _J.E_. and a lion wrapped in ivy. There was no mistaking that this button was Enjolras’, which had to mean that the dream he had just woken up was more than a dream. But what was Marius to do? How was he supposed to know what type of ‘unfinished business’ these apparitions had? He hadn’t even known most of them all that well, much less shared dreams and ambitions!

He was musing on this when he felt a hand on his shoulder and gave a most unmanly shriek, jumping with fright. He whipped around to see that it was only Cosette, who was now trying to suppress a grin. Noting the terror in his wild eyes, she sobered.

“What happened? Have you slept any?”

“Yes, of course,” Marius replied quickly, “Er, care to go out for lunch or something?”

Cosette was not fooled as she looked upon the distraught, shadowed mess before her.

“Only if you’re absolutely positive that you’re feeling up to it. Why don’t you get properly dressed and shave? We’ll go to that nice little café down the road, very quiet. Go on,” she said, shooing him. As he went over to the washbasin and mirror, where his razor and cream were, she opened their heavy mahogany wardrobe and began selecting a more respectable dress for herself, dark navy with lace trim. She began unbuttoning her simple dress that she wore when not expecting visitors to come calling.

Marius lathered up his face and, holding his straight razor very carefully as he was so lately absent-minded, began to shave his jaw in clean, straight lines. As the smooth planes of his handsome face began to show again, he realized that this was the first time he’d shaved in days and he was beginning to acquire the prisoner look. He rubbed the remaining cream off of his face with a towel and pulled his white nightshirt over his head.

“Would you mind helping me fix my laces? They’re coming loose and I would like to look nice when we go out; Elle has gone home to her children for the day or I would ask her.”

Marius crossed over to where she stood in her underthings and gently untied the knot at the bottom of her corset with his slender fingers.

“Tell me if I’m pulling too tight,” he said, “I don’t want you to crack a rib.”

She puffed a laugh which turned into a short gasp as he gave the top X a hard tug. He stopped and looked at her as she braced herself against the wardrobe and nodded for him to continue. It went on like this until he reached the bottom, where he gave one final yank and tied a firm, flat knot at the bottom. She straightened up and examined her body.

Marius didn’t think she looked any different, but she seemed satisfied. Besides, Marius never saw Cosette as anything other than absolutely beautiful, so what would he know? She slipped on the corset cover and began stepping into her better dress. Marius, for his part, selected a clean white shirt, trousers, a fantastically violet waistcoat and cravat that Cosette had often told his brought out his eyes, and his newer black coat. As she was doing up the last button on her dress and tying on her hat, he slipped on his boots and went out to his study, where he kept his money and counted out enough for lunch, dessert, and a bit extra just in case.

She was standing in the foyer downstairs, ready to go. They left the house and locked the door behind them.

            The Paris street was oddly tranquil. The morning marketers had gone, the homeless children who usually ran about and whom Marius had grown rather fond of giving gifts to had gone to search for the rich swells elsewhere, and even the number of carriages on the street was fewer than on an average day.

            “Is there some type of event going on in the city today? I’ve never seen the street so empty, even at night,” Marius asked, perplexed. Had he truly been so far out of the loop that he had missed a memorial announcement or a holiday?

            “You’re just not used to seeing this street at this hour, love. It goes completely silent for an hour or two every afternoon while most people are either at their jobs or else working in their homes. It reminds me of being a little girl working at the inn,” Cosette replied. Marius was surprised; she so rarely mentioned any time before her adopted father had taken her in at age eight. Still, though, he picked up that whatever he had suffered at the hands of his grandfather was a hundred times worse for her.

            “The deserted street?” he asked, hoping she’d say a bit more. Her early life was mostly a mystery to him, one that he was eager to find out more about.

            “Yes. In Mont, Mont,” she said, trying to think of the name, “well, wherever the inn was, at this hour, respectable men would be hard at work at their crafts and unrespectable men would be collapsed on each other in the wine-houses, mainly the inn where I lived. I swept the streets alone. I remember it being really cold in the winter, and so quiet that you could her shouting from inside a house three streets away. I always liked those quiet moments, living in that house.”

            Marius didn’t know what to say. The way she had just rattled off this account so nonchalantly, so commonplace, made him want to hunt Thenardier down and strangle him. Maybe Eponine’s proposal wouldn’t be so bad after all.

            “Oh, we’re here,” he finally said when they had arrived at the door of the little café. The Café de Pomme was a quiet, well-run establishment owned by a man named Monsieur Lemion.

He was a great philanthropist, even giving those who were too poor to feed themselves or their children a free meal every Thursday. Of course, this did require him to raise his restaurant’s prices more than many thought reasonable, though the wealthy felt that they were doing their bit of good by eating there. Marius and Cosette, who knew what it was like to feel hunger, ate there as often as they could and usually donated extra funds specifically for the Poor Meals. The jolly, kind owner knew them by name and welcomed them with open arms.

            “Monsieur Pontmercy, how wonderful to see you here today! I see you’ve brought the beautiful Madame along as well. Come in, come in!” he boomed. The entered the building and were seated at one of the round tables by a window. The restaurant appeared to be made entirely out of greenery, as ivy climbed the walls and ferns decorated the corners. The ordered their simple lunch of meat, bread and vegetables, and the moment the waiter Dupont had left, Cosette’s smile turned dead serious.

            “Marius, what’s _really_ going on?” she asked, looking him directly in the eye. Marius tried to evade the question.

            “I’ve been so busy these past weeks, oh, I’ve just been a tad absentminded. Just been having a little trouble sleeping, everything’s f-“

            “Don’t you dare say that ‘everything’s fine’. I’m not an imbecile; I’ve seen you go for _days_ without sleep and _you are never like this!”_ Cosette said, her hard eyes staring him full in the face, “Here’s what you’re going to do. You are going to eat your lunch, and you are going to tell me exactly what’s been happening to you.”  Dupont set their lunches on the table, refilled their wine glasses, and left. Marius picked at his food while Cosette waited for an answer, chewing slowly.

            “I didn’t want to upset you,” he finally said. Instead of the unwavering sympathy he was expecting, well, he got a different response entirely.

            “Are you _joking?”_ she exploded, “Upset me? Marius, I spent the first eight years of my life beaten, starved, and frozen! I nursed your wounds for months, standing over your bed hoping upon hope that you’d live to see another dawn! I watched the person who loved me most in the world -don’t start, you know it’s true- effectively spend the last year of his life pulling away from me and _I thought he just didn’t want me anymore!_ There is _nothing_ that you could possibly say that would upset me at this point.” She heaved for breath after her outburst and took a drink of her wine.

            “I think,” he took a moment to steady his nerves, “I think I’ve gone mad. My f-friends, I see them everywhere. I look in the mirror and Courfeyrac is behind me; I see Bossuet out of the corner of my eye. I sometimes hear Eponine, the girl I mentioned a while ago, I sometimes hear her voice in that moment between waking and dreaming. I don’t know whether I’m delusional or not, but they came to me in my dream last night- well, this morning I suppose- and begged me to help them.” All of this was said in a mumbling rush as if he was afraid that she would jump up and leave or, worse, laugh in his face. What she did instead shocked him almost as much as the ghosts did. Forgetting any sort of propriety, she took his hand across from her and rubbed the back with her thumb, soothing him.

            “Marius, I’m going to ask you something and I want you to answer me as best as you can: do they shimmer slightly like a reflection on water, and do they blur at the edges and sort of fade into the background if you look at them for too much time?”

            “Well, yes, but how on Earth-?”

            “When I was a little girl at the inn in Montfermeil, that was the name of the village, I began to see apparitions of a woman. Sad, with an underfed body and a shorn head, she used to stroke my hair when the nightmares kept me awake at night. I saw her for the first time about two weeks before Papa came for me, but she grew steadily more and more distinct until she only shimmered slightly in the harshest light. I saw her from time to time around the convent while I was growing up.”

            “Do you know who she was?” Marius asked, curious.

            “I mentioned dreaming of an angel to my father once; he replied that she was a martyr. I believe now that she was my own mother, having read the letter he left when he died. Her name was Fantine, according to the letter, and she died of illness and overwork while trying to keep me alive. On the last occasion I saw her ghost, I said her name. Nothing else, just ‘Fantine’,”  Cosette paused for a moment in memory,  “She smiled and grew radiant with warm golden light; her form filled out, her hair tumbled down, long and blonde, over her shoulders, her face had color and life again. She caressed my face and faded in a burst of starlight. That was over a year ago and I haven’t seen the pale specter since.”

            “So you think that’s what they are, then? Ghosts? Not daemons come to torment me while wearing the faces of my friends?”

            “Well, I suppose that’s always a possibility, but from the way you described them, they seem to be just spirits of the unquiet dead, nothing more.”

            “Do you think I should do as they ask?” Marius asked, relieved to have as close to an expert as he could get on his side. He’d always trusted her advice, but knowing that she was aware of the ghosts, it seemed to have more weight than usual. Finally hungry, he ate his lunch and kept an eye out for the waiter.

            “Well,” Cosette furrowed her brow, thinking hard, “if I were in your situation, I’d want to help them move on. Shall we pay and go home to discuss this further? We’re beginning to attract attention.”

            Indeed, several other patrons were looking curiously in their direction. Marius called Dupont over, paid him double, and the couple exited the café. They made their way back down the lane, arm in arm. The street was beginning to fill with merchants returning to home to their wives and suppers; had they really been at lunch for nearly three hours? It had seemed to go by so quickly. When they reentered their home, Cosette had Marius stand directly in front of her in the parlor and close his eyes. He took a deep breath, her soft hand on his arm.

            “What are we doing?” he asked.

            “Do you want to see the ghosts?” Marius opened his eyes and gaped at her.

            “I’d actually prefer that they went away entirely.”

            “We both know that’s not going to happen. Look, if you can see them, they can tell you what you need to do to help. I can show you how, if you like. How to see them. Is that okay?” she said, expecting revulsion. Marius closed his eyes again.

            “Yes, well, if you think that would be best. I trust you.”

            “When you sense the spirits near, you feel a hard, heavy pressure like a cannonball in your stomach, correct?”

            “That’s right, but I don’t know how to make one appear. I’ve only seen them unintentionally.”

            “Pick one, a face that you can clearly see in your mind’s eye. A name that tastes familiar on your lips. I believe Courfeyrac may be your best choice. Envision his face as well as you can and see if you can clear your mind of anything but his name and face, let his likeness fill you up inside.”

            Marius pictured the dark curls, the wild grin, the kind eyes of his friend. He repeated over and over to himself _Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac, are you there? Courfeyrac, please answer me I just want to help you. Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac!_

            “I feel it, Cosette! I feel the weight in my stomach!”

            “Don’t shy away from it; focus on the feeling, hold it in your mind!” she shouted. Marius desperately stuffed down his fear and focused on the cold pain. Once it was manageable, he opened his eyes and nearly fainted.

            Standing in the corner, the ghost of his long-dead friend smiled and waved. Marius, his mind going into overdrive, swirled into darkness.

            When he awoke, he was on the parlor sofa with his collar loosened. Cosette was pouring him a brandy from the sideboard. When she handed it to him, he immediately gulped it down, breathing heavily.

            “He was there. In the room,” he croaked out.

            “I know. We can try again tomorrow, if you like,” she said, sitting down beside him.

            “How did you know how to summon him? I thought you grew up in a convent,” Marius said. Cosette shrugged and leaned her head on his shoulder.

            “When I noticed that the Woman in White from the village had followed me to Paris, I had to figure it out. Papa would have never believed me, and the nuns would have thought me possessed. It took me a very long time to be able to see her while I was awake; I believe I was twelve.”

            “I guess I’ll see them in my dreams tonight, but it’ll be difficult to separate dream from…vision? Is that what these are?”

            “You’ll be okay,” she said, “We’ll get through this together.”

            The fire roared as they snuggled closer together. It would be the last peace they would have for a long time.


End file.
